after all, you're my wonderwall
by quorra laraex
Summary: A boy, a girl, and what could have been so beautiful. – Peter/Wendy


**after all, you're my wonderwall  
**(_there are many things i would like to say to you, but i don't know how_)

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There are things Peter realizes – remembers with somber eyes and a tight throat (and he's capable of understanding why he's in this state; the thing is, he wishes he didn't – it would save him the trouble of feeling this _grownup_ thing called pain) as he hovers over the window in secrecy, watching far blue eyes close in slumber. Her eyes are just the same, large and oceanic, except there are wrinkles around the corners and bags below the orbs. She's shriveled up and wrapped in blankets, and she's too old to even notice he's there.

He knows it's hard to swallow, but he tries anyway. Remorse fills his gut, and even Tink couldn't alleviate this suffering with her pixie dust magic. If only the fairy could help him reverse the clock – to all those years ago when he allowed Wendy to go back to her family. He wouldn't try to stop her because she had been right to make her decision. But rather, he'd stop himself from making the wrong one – leaving her.

Seeing the girl that changed him, the girl that destroyed his beliefs with her utter hope and audacity to question his life, growing older and nearing to death and barely able to use any of her senses, Peter thinks of the things he could have done differently.

And soon after, he remembers what it is like to cry.

/

He should have kissed her.

A plain, simple, press of lips after he had caught her during her failure attempt at flying for the first time. The vibe she gave him a tingling déjà vu touch, and he couldn't seem to look away from those alluring eyes while he carried her. She reminded him of sweet honey, difficult to retrieve, but once you had it, it'd be impossible to let go of or _share_.

Especially with the damned Lost Boys.

/

He should have visited her.

Discreetly or openly, it didn't matter. He should have been there for her when her mother died, lingered on for the funeral. He should have comforted her when Michael was diagnosed with leukemia. He could have wiped her tears and made her smile and help her realize that her life is only flourishing. He should have helped her become better, to make her smile.

He would have been what she was to him – the cure.

/

He should have left the island, stayed with her, grew up with her.

He could have caught her by surprise; the look on her face – priceless and unforgettable when she'd notice flaring, familiar hair and a gaze she believed would be long gone. Mistaken and a fluttery feeling in her stomach, she'd have run to him whilst singing his name and embracing him. He would have stumbled backward, fallen and taken aback and wrapping his arms around her as well while boyishly saying, "Hey, Wendy."

/

They should have aged together.

She should have witnessed him through all his pubescent stages as he grew from child, to teenager, to eventually a man. They would have been best friends, the way they were. She, teaching him the ways of life and responsibility, and he, reminding her that they had their whole lives to grow up. She would have beamed at him, indignant, until he speaks words that make her purse her lips and soften her gaze.

"Growing old is mandatory, Wen," he'd begin before flashing her a smirk. "But growing up is optional."

/

And sooner or later, they should have lost their innocence together.

They'd begin craving it, curiosity stricken and naivety lost. She'd have initiated it, and he wouldn't have stopped her.

/

He should have married her after all this.

He should have been the one to place a diamond ring on her slender finger and watch her eyes glow brighter than they have ever been. It should have been him.

They'd have named their kids after the Lost Boys, pondering over when the time will come for them when they'd have decided they'd had enough of their playland.

/

Peter sits on her roof – a roof he hadn't had the pleasure of perching himself atop of since she had been nothing but a mere, young fresh little thing – face buried in the space between his bent knees. He feels hollow and worn out, and decides that he's been in this world for too long because he shouldn't even know what feeling this way should be like.

He's been on the brink of death and he was familiar with sadness, but this – right now, this phase, _reminiscence_ – feels foreign, _new_, and he absolutely hates it. Hates it because it feels awful, hates it because he hadn't even realized he was _capable_ of such a state of being, hates it because he knows it's his fault, and hates it because it's too late; _he's_ too late. He'd always been good at running away.

And so, he wipes at his eyes and looks up at the sky, before doing what he does best.

Wendy's eyes dart at her window from her position on the bed and smiles at the distancing figure in the sky that transcends and becomes smaller and smaller until there is a twinkling flash in the sky. And Wendy, too, remembers what it is like to shed tears.

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(_because maybe, you're going to be the one that saves me_)  
**fin**

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**a/n: **lol i'm sad bc i love them and they did not end up together. like all of my other ships. kms


End file.
